


Amber Waves, Purple Mountains- Silver Curls!?

by BleuWaters



Category: Gintama
Genre: American!reader, F/M, Same universe, farmer!reader, kidnapping oh my
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-05
Updated: 2017-05-05
Packaged: 2018-10-28 05:41:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,398
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10824930
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BleuWaters/pseuds/BleuWaters
Summary: Gintoki x reader. It was just another quiet, deliciously beautiful day when smoke, fuel, and blazing metal fell from the sky. Oh, and a certain samurai.





	Amber Waves, Purple Mountains- Silver Curls!?

**Author's Note:**

> I went to north dakota a couple weeks ago and started watching gintama in the hotel room; this is the richly-inspired outcome. :> I started it on my drive home.

"Ugh, too hot,” you mutter to yourself, shifting your toasted arm into the shade of the maple you lounge sleepily beneath. It's a beautiful June day in the country, with green grass swaying to a gentle breeze and the fluffiest white clouds floating through the most perfectly cerulean sky. A pond sits a few yards away, glittering with welcome to the turtles and ducks that swim around within. The air smells of the sweet peas and lilacs that encircle your cottage. Insects flit and buzz about to pollinate or to pester, and little brown birds twitter overhead.

Slowly, your eyelids begin to droop. When your eyes simply won't stay open, you sink into that delicious, half-conscious state. Your ears work overtime to make up for the missing sense and every trill from the birds is sharply magnified, enough to keep you from falling fully asleep. Overhead, an engine drones away; an airship, undoubtedly. It's a common noise; plenty of ships fly over your farm each day.

However, the grinding, groaning squeal that cuts through the air is not, and you sit up straight, exhaustion fogging your mind. Without an extra moment to comprehend, pieces of crushed metal and broken glass shower the pond. A large piece of the engine lands heavily on the other side of the pond, steaming for a moment before exploding into flame.

Without thinking, you dash to the pond and scoop the nearest three turtles from the water, then plop them down under your maple. You make another trip, then another to pluck out newly-hatched babies, and you turn to run one more time to be sure you got them all when a strong hand on your bicep yanks you to a solid halt.

“Please...help…”

You gasp as the owner of the hand falls to the ground. Out in the middle of nowhere, you don't have much in the way of neighbors or traffic going past your house. Seven and a half miles of farmland distances you from your neighbors, and the nearest town is quite a lot farther; to have a stranger fall from the sky..? It's almost enough to panic you.

But as a farmer that owns large animals, not many injuries or situations can truly scare you. You grasp the young man by the wrists and drag him up to the house.

~o0o~

‘Gintoki. Sakata Gintoki. ‘Sama’, if you will. Master Gintoki, yes. Pardon the perm perm, ne? Bad luck, I guess.’

‘Hush now.’ A voice as smooth as silk and luscious as a sun-ripened pear purrs to the injured man. Gee, if every hospital had a nurse so gentle… ‘You need to rest. I gave you a horse sedative -I cut down the dose- but you need to be still.’

‘Jack of the knick-knacks, trader of all thingies that are tradable. Even black market, I guess. I don't condone illegality. No, don't take me foolishly. I just-’

Then he was out like a light before he could finish his thought.

~o0o~

So who is he, you wonder, staring at the wreckage slowly leaking fuel into your beloved pond and poisoning its inhabitants. You did get all the turtles out, and the ducks flew off on their own. You did your best to scoop out the koi; you had twenty-seven, last time you counted, but you only got thirteen out. You're sad about it. Sure, they were fish, but they were beautiful and expensive, and each truly had a personality, and you were quite attached. You sigh. It's an Amanto ship with kanji stenciled on the side. The man that was on it spoke Japanese; thankfully, you do a lot of trade and selling to the Amanto authorities in Japan and you know the language well.

I'll find out who he is, you decide, Even if I have to drag it out of him.

~o0o~

Gintoki awakens to light. Bright light. Light that hurts.

“Are you Amanto?” It the velvet-voiced nurse. Velvet has hardened to steel.

“Five more minutes…” mumbles Gintoki, his head clouded by the drug and pounding, pounding…

“Are you Amanto!?” demands the woman, louder this time.

“No, I'm a samurai.”

“Do not jest.” The woman’s voice takes on a warning tone, one that drips with hostility. “Tell me now or I'll tie you to my bronco and let her loose. Five seconds. Four-”

“I'm not Amanto,” sighs Gintoki, and he groans when he realizes his hands are cuffed to the bed, “I'm a samurai.”

“Samurai? Why were you on an Amanto ship as a samurai? Are you a fugitive? Are you a spy!?”

“Nope. I'm a jack of all trades.”

“Including spying!?”

“Well, unofficially, sure. But I'm not Amanto. Heck, I made their ship fall.”

“Thence you are a spy.”

“No, I'm not,” huffs the man, “I'm a man for hire; that's all.”

“What's your name?”

“Sakata Gintoki.”

“Okay.” The light clicks off, plunging the room in blackness. “Hungry?”

“Starving.”

~o0o~

You look at the man as he digs into a bowl of soup. Wary of him, you haven't allowed him to see your face. It's currently the middle of the first night he's staying with you, and you sit behind the lamp so he can't see you. You ask him a couple brief questions, but mostly stay quiet and inspect him.

He has endearlingly curly hair and a strong jaw. His eyes are Japanese and hooded very attractively, and he offers little expressions to show his enjoyment of the food, or his quiet disdain for the Amanto when you mention them. Never before have you met anyone so immediately captivating. Though he seems shallow, you feel a weightiness to his presence, a whisper of what he truly is beneath the seemingly immature exoskeleton.

A gash, now expertly stitched up, runs down his temple, surrounded by bruising, and his breathing hitches now and then as one of his three cracked ribs twinges sharply. He dislocated his shoulder, and it sits faintly indented, out of place. You hadn't relocated it for manipulation purposes; also, it would have woken him prematurely. While attending to his injuries, you had pulled his soaked and dirtied clothing off to wash and dry later, and replaced it with an old set of pajamas left behind by your late father. The man had gone to war years back along with thousands upon thousands of American soldiers in a vain attempt to retain the freedom the young country prided itself on having. He never returned home to his heavily pregnant wife and unborn baby.

The memory causes a sigh to pass your lips and Gintoki squints over the light, trying to catch a glimpse of his difficult rescuer.

“What's wrong?” he asks, chewing casually on a piece of potato.

“Nothing,” you reply, “Are you finished?”

“Is that an invitation for thirds?”

“Best to keep your strength up, if you can manage it,” you say, taking the bowl once more to fill it, “What would you say to helping me clean out the pond you polluted in exchange for a ticket home?”

“Sounds great!” says Gintoki, stretching. The cuffs clink softly. You aren't supposed to own them, so it probably would've ended badly for the samurai if he was actually Amanto.

“It's going to take some specialized equipment to empty it out,” you say, “Can I trust you to locate it?”

“Sure ya can. The handcuffs aren't ideal but I can work around them.”

“My power over your return home is enough insurance,” you say, “You can trust me to get you back if I can trust you not to abandon your mess.”

“Heh,” Gintoki breathes a humorless laugh, “You don't trust me enough to show me your face.”

“You fell from the sky in a destroyed Amanto ship,” you say, and you flick the overhead light on to reveal yourself, “You can understand my hesitance. Eat your soup and go back to sleep. I'll fix your shoulder in the morning.”

~o0o~

Gintoki’s rest came slowly. He thought endlessly of his stunning captor, untrusting and strong, brave and capable and a bit of a rebel to be hiding handcuffs and who knows what else from the Amanto. He thought of the (h/c) locks and the sharp, intense (e/c) eyes that glared at him. He thought of the soft curves of your cheeks, the movement of your lips, the gentle shape to your figure. You were wealthy, he could tell; paid well for providing food to the masses.

When sleep finally did come, the young samurai could swear that he had smelled cinnamon on you.

~o0o~

“Soooo…”

You glance up from the stove at your visitor, his hair mussed, his hands still shackled uncomfortably in front of him.

“What?”

“What's your name?”

You tell him only your first name, and poke at the eggs sizzling in the too-hot pan.

“When are you going to fix my shoulder?”

“Whenever you want. Only takes a moment,” you say softly, turning a sheet of bright yellow egg over itself. Your hens lay the best eggs.

“When you're done with that, then?”

“Okay.” After a minute, you slide the eggs onto a plate. “I'm going to have you put your arm through the rails on the headboard of the bed so I can pull without the rest of you coming at me.”

“Sure,” says Gintoki, and you follow him back to the guest room. He positions himself, as do you, and you promise to count to three. You yank his arm sharply before the number ‘two' dies in the air, and the stoic samurai lets out a yelp, his knuckles turning white as he clutches the headboard.

“Don't suppose you're hungry, are you?” you ask, and you bite down an unintentional, sudden smile at how pale his face got from the pain.

“I wouldn't object to breakfast,” he says through clenched teeth, and you do smile at that.

“Hope you like American cuisine,” you say.

~o0o~

Gintoki breathes in a long whiff of butter, coffee, and smoky bacon, and groans contentedly in anticipation. After downing a couple aspirin and having the promise of pain relief, he can settle into a plate of food. The eggs are fluffy and soft, the toast is made with homemade bread and butter, and the bacon, he's sure, is the best he has ever had. Even the hazelnut coffee, which you assure is from Cambodia, tastes rich and smooth, and the cream he pours into it makes his mouth water.

“Wow, want some coffee with that sugar?” the young woman teases, watching as spoonful after spoonful slides into the cup.

“Tastes better this way.”

“It defeats the point of having coffee if you drown out the flavor,” you insist, “But do what you like; I don't really mind.”

Gintoki’s mouth twists slightly in amusement as he stirs the raw, tan crystals into his drink. “How am I supposed to go about finding this machinery for you?” he asks.

“You're going to have to go into town with me. I have a couple small errands to run, but I'll drop you off at my supplier first. Tell him this exactly:” In English, you proceed. “I need a pond pump; (f/surname) sent me and will pay later.”

Gintoki repeats the phrase with a faint accent, but it'll do, and after a short time, you're ready to leave. The trip into town and back home was quick and smooth, and you were promised a pump by tomorrow.

~o0o~

You cross your arms as you watch the sore Japanese haul pieces of metal, long water weeds and limp decorative fish out of your pond, their mouths gaping, their eyes bugged out. Poor things. You quietly mourn the loss, tears stinging your eyes. However, there is comfort knowing that thirteen remain, and that they will enjoy the smaller population.

You sigh. “Get that engine tipped so the fuel won't come out anymore,” you order, “I'll collect it to sell.”

“Either you're brave or stupid,” mutters the samurai and you snort.

“You're one to talk,” you say, turning your attention to gazing over your fields of sustainable crops, each separated by a shelter belt. Behind one planted with black quinoa, a small herd of bison amble about and, in another off to the side, your two horses, several goats, and dairy cow graze contentedly on the nutrient-rich pasture. Your pond is purely for your own enjoyment as the rest of the animals you have are necessary to maintaining the farm. “Oi, Gintoki.”

“Huh?”

“Have you ever caught yourself thinking about something you shouldn't?”

“HA, yeah,” he replies, “Why?”

“Just wondering.”

~o0o~

Yeah, he has. Two days after falling from the sky, he finds himself unable to keep from thinking about you.

He thinks of how beautifully your hair shone in the sunlight. He thinks about how capable you are and wonders why it's so appealing. He briefly entertains the thought of kissing you, and he sighs softly, his lower lip twitching reflexively. He bites down on it and frowns. You haven't been particularly positive or particularly negative toward him, just polite, and he doesn't expect more.

He just…

Finds you undeniably attractive.

~o0o~

You wake up when it's still dark and make yourself a cup of tea, then wander outside as the blue light of dawn seeps into the sky. A dewy chill cuts through to your bones, but your hot drink counterbalances the iciness. Bare toes curl against the porch.

Eventually, you make your way to the pasture with your horses and goats and cow. You place your cup on a fencepost and duck between the slats of the fence. Your mare looks up, nickering softly in acknowledgement, and your stallion steps over to you, nudging his nose into your offered hand. You scrub gently at his muzzle with your fingertips and he mouths at them playfully. Your horses are useful thoroughbreds and you sell a yearling every couple of years with full pedigrees and papers. Your goats breed more often and you sell the males, keeping the females as dairy goats. And you only keep the one cow, selling each of her weaned calves when the time is right. Your farm is extensive, but you only have five people hired to help, and they only help with the crops; you're the sole caretaker for the animals because you're the only person you trust with them. Sad, sure, but you don't want a clueless human teenager or, worse yet, a sneaky Amanto inspector mistreating your animals.

The critters follow you down to the barn for their breakfast and you entertain the notion of moving the barn closer to the house so you wouldn't have to walk the length of the paddock in frost or dew or snow or mud to meet the bare necessities of your precious animals. There is a gravel road that snakes behind a section of fields to connect your house and the barn, but it's a mile trek roundtrip whereas it's about half that to cut through the quinoa and wheat, and you're not one to waste the back and forth gas money.

After giving everyone fresh water and a handful of oats for a treat, you make your way up the hill to the bison to check on the youngsters. Pleasantly surprised, you find a brand new baby wobbling after his mother, born during the night, probably just a couple hours ago. In a good mood, you return to your cottage, picking up your cold tea mug on the way, and you find Gintoki waiting.

“Good morning,” he says softly, a gentle smile on his face.

“Good morning to you,” you reply brightly, “We have a new calf; strong and healthy and bright orange. Cutest things ever. I'll probably keep him as a bull.”

Gintoki raises a brow.

“And- What?” you ask, frowning.

“Nothing.” He grins at the floor, shaking his head.

You narrow your eyes.

“Who are you and what have you done with Gintoki?” you ask, and you grip your mug, ready to throw it if you have to.

“Whoa now, relax, cowgirl. It's me.”

You throw it as hard as you can and start running. You hear a dull thud and a cry of pain but you ignore it.

It takes three minutes to reach the horses and you vault up onto the mare’s back. She’s swift and strong, faster, by far, than the stallion. Her counterpart gives a shrill whinny of displeasure as you tear out of the paddock and away from him, but the poor thing will have to cope.

You weave through trees and soar over a short fence separating two crops, ripping up stalks and stamping them into the earth.

That look-alike is alien. If it wasn't, it wouldn't be able to keep up. Horror cuts through you like a scythe when you glance over to see the Gintoki fake taking impossibly long strides across a sea of grain in a beeline for you, as if it knew where you were headed before you did. Its legs warp and stretch like liquid rubber and it turns your stomach.

Just around the next bend, the pond comes into view, and in it, the real Gintoki floats face down. You don't know how you can pull him out fast enough to get you both to safety, but you screech to a halt and slide from the mare’s back.

“Gintoki!” You wade into the cold water, mud squishing between your toes, and grab him by his sloppily-worn, grubby kimono, then haul him out. The alien has come up behind you and it begins to chuckle.

“He's been in there a good long time,” it hisses, “He won't wake up.”

“Yes, he will,” you say, tilting the samurai’s head back, “Lord willing, he will.”

The alien watches sadistically as you start the repetitive task of thumping Gintoki’s heart and forcing air into his lungs.

Gintoki may be the jack-of-all-trades, but you have just as many skills, if not more. Granted, the need for CPR is minimal on a farm, but it has been tucked away in your arsenal since high school.

Finally, finally, Gintoki coughs up a small amount of water, and you begin to cry, petting his curly hair away from his face. Panic about the situation sets in and you let out a crazed shriek when the alien rips you from the samurai.

Then a needle pierces your collar and, quite immediately, your world goes black.

~o0o~

Gintoki was awake when the aliens dragged you and him to their headquarters, and he picked up on the inexperience and sloppiness of the job immediately. The cell the tossed him into seems very stereotypical, like they got the design for it off an American Western.

“Oi, oi, anyone there?” he calls down the hall on the other side of the bars, “Yoo-hoo! Hey, where's that girl I was with? Lemme talk to her!”

A crackle of static feeds over an intercom system in the cell chambers, and a very simple phrase is offered.

“Shut up.”

“Whatever,” mutters the curly top, and he turns to inspect his room. The floor is bare, and they took his shoes, so it's scratchy against his feet, and the walls are a dull concrete. The cot in the corner is little more than a blanket tossed onto a ledge, and a hole in the floor serves as a toilet. “Nice digs…Hey, when ya gonna let me see that girl I was with?”

“We said shut up.”

“Ah, shut up yourself.”

Gintoki steps slowly around his room, frowning at all the grit and dust that stick to his feet. “Any chance at getting a broom?” he asks, “Or seeing that girl?”

“Would you stop about the girl!?”

“Only if I get to see her.”

There's a long pause.

“Four hours.”

“Hah?”

“We'll bring her to you in four hours.”

~o0o~

You awaken on a hard bed to a vicious headache and a throbbing left ankle. Squinting to lessen the bright light, you glance around. Off to the side of the room stands a magenta-skinned alien, her back to you, typing lazily at a tired, yellowed computer.

“Hey,” you say softly, speaking English, but it comes out as more of a croak, “Where am I?”

The alien looks over at you, then taps a key sharply. “She's awake according to schedule,” she says, “On her way now.”

“Wait, what do you mean? Hey, wait!” you holler, but the alien shrugs as she steps over to you.

“The other one wants to see you,” she explains briefly, and she gets behind the bed, a gurney, you suppose, and wheels you out of the room. The trip down a maze of hallways and elevators is silent between the two of you and, though you look around for them, you see no one else. After ramming the bed into a tight corner, you come to a stop at a door that says something in some scribbly language, and the alien orders you off the bed. You can't put any weight on your injured ankle, and, though begrudgingly, you allow the alien to assist you.

“Here she is,” says the alien female, and she pulls out a weapon that looks like a typical ray gun, “Stand away from the door.”

Then the door is unlocked and opened, and you hop through it. The look on Gintoki's face is a blessing to see. It starts out expectantly, then melts to relief. He holds his arms out and you fall into him, trusting him to hold you.

“Are you okay?” you ask.

“Sore throat, but that's about it,” he answers, “Those idiots knocked you around pretty bad, didn't they?”

You make a soft sound in your throat, too relieved to answer, too tired to speak. Your leg goes slack and you shift your left ankle to keep it from hitting the floor. Gintoki lifts you and places you on the bed ledge, then sneers.

“Tch. They don't even know how to apply a bandage,” he huffs, “Gimme your foot.”

“Huh?”

“Drugged you up, too, huh?” Gintoki sighs and gently puts your calf on his thigh. “Idiots…”

“Why are they so dumb?” you ask. Your head feels swimmy, so you close your eyes.

“They don't know what they're doing,” he answers, “Heck, we're probably a test run to see if they can pull it off with someone else.” Somewhere in your subconscious, you feel him unwind the bandaging from around your ankle. You suck in a breath when he prods the tender skin there, and he groans. “You got all torn up. Like you got caught on something.”

“Ehh…” You make a rather sickened face and feel yourself drifting. You tell him so, and he encourages you to sleep.

~o0o~

Gintoki stares at the ripped flesh of your ankle. It's bad. Really bad. Way beyond his skill level to fix. You need a doctor, and fast, before infection sets in. He knows also that you hit your head, because you were bleeding profusely half the time the aliens smuggled you both away.

“Geez…”

He gently wraps your ankle back up, snugly and carefully so that the tattered flesh is supported. Then he checks your head, and presses his lips together in annoyance. It probably needs stitches.

“Hey, idiots! She needs a doctor!” he shouts, “You wouldn't want abuse on your records, would ya?”

“Shut up!!”

“Come make me!!”

“What's happening? I thought you told me to sleep…” you say slowly, and you moan in protest as the silver-haired samurai pulls you up and tosses you over his shoulder as if you were a ragdoll.

“We're breakin’ outta here,” says Gintoki, “Hold onto me and don't let go.”

You fist your hands into his eccentric kimono thing and rest your cheek against his back. “Go get ‘im, tiger,” you say, and the phrase makes you chuckle sleepily.

Gintoki waited patiently for the kidnapping cretins to reach the door and they, being such idiots, were deftly and easily overpowered by the skill and experience the samurai has, even with a dopey, giggly girl over his shoulder.

You truly wish you could've seen it with a fresh mind, but Gintoki insists that it was no big deal and that he's dealt with worse. Now, in the hospital with newly-bandaged wounds and an IV giving you fluid you probably don't need, your mind begins to recover from the surreal and short-lived event.

“Gintoki?”

“Hm?”

“Why did you ask for me?” you question quietly.

“Whaddya mean?”

“You met me a week ago. Why did you care so much about seeing me?”

“I care about my friends,” he says and you smile slightly at him.

“Good,” you say, “It's good that you care for your friends. And I'm glad you think of me as one of them.”

Gintoki returns the smile just as faintly and gives a nonchalant shrug. “Do you think of me as one?”

“What, a friend? Of course I do. Even though you poisoned my fish…”

“That wasn't my fault!”

“I'm teasing,” you say, and you tap his curly head, “Teasing. You're the kind of friend that can last a lifetime.”

Gintoki sighs and plops his head onto the bed. “I guess the pond has to wait until you get better.”

“No, the pump can be managed by one person,” you say, “You can work on it.”

“I don't feel like it.”

“Aw, don't be like that.”

“The sooner the pond is finished, the sooner I go home,” says Gintoki, and you frown.

“We can keep in contact,” you say, and you hesitantly move a silver curl away from Gintoki's face. He pouts up at you and you slide your fingers into his hair.

Suddenly, something within him just clicks and he lunges at you, cupping your neck with his hand. He latches his parted lips to your lower one and gives a good, sound suck before pulling away again. Brief but shocking.

“What makes you so special?” he whispers, and his lips brush against yours with each word, “I've never been so...Hm. I think you're great.”

You smile and kiss him again, and again, and he starts laughing.

Your nurse ends up walking in on a pair of squealing, cackling lunatics doing a rather pitiful job of kissing each other and she just quietly backs away without saying a word.

Must've been the captivity.

**Author's Note:**

> WOO! hope you liked it, my friends. Please leaves kudos and comments, maybe a character request ;D till the next fic!


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